Auschwitz
by HorseGirl784
Summary: It's 1942: the heart of WWII. In Strasbourg, France, a small family of Jews is discovered and shipped off to Auschwitz, the worst Nazi death camp on planet earth. There, Gale meets an unlikely ally, to lean on until the very end. Entry for sd23's dare #2.
1. Discovered

**A/N - Okay, so this is my entry for swingdancer23's newest dare contest. This time, it's tragedy. My topic is, obviously, the Holocaust. This is a short-fic, maybe three chapters, so I'll try and update this before the 17th rolls around. Anyway, I'd like feedback, if it's not too much of a bother.**

**Disclaimer: Chase: Horsey doesn't own Harvest Moon. As usual. *reads fic* Goddess, horsegirl. This is...quite angsty. **

**Me: *sniffle* I know...it's so sad, isn't it?**

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><p>The morning was anything but peaceful in the French city of Strasbourg of January 17th, 1942. The citizens that once had inhabited the streets were no more, having either fled the town— its location being dangerously close to German borders—or been shipped off to the Allies' vast collaboration of troops, the three major squadrons being that of the United States, the USSR, and Great Britain. The paved walkways and cobblestone paths that had once held cheerful merchants and wrestling little boys were silent and desolate, the only creatures daring to come out of hiding being the occasional stray dog or cat. Shop windows were boarded closed, the owners having long since left for somewhere safer, and rubbish lined the curbs and was strewn throughout the city. Altogether, the place was empty of any human life.<p>

No, not peaceful. Utterly and heartbreakingly depressing.

In the quiet, something stirred. In the hidden basement of an antique painting shop, there hid three people. The reason why they had not left the town being quite simple: they were Jews. None of them could risk going out in daylight, and besides; the town was supposedly empty. No one would ever suspect there to be a small family cowering in a musty shop full of smelly old canvas. The heating and water did not work either, since so many people had left and no one bothered to keep up maintenance. Surely nobody would live in such miserable conditions.

But there were. For many, places like this were a last resort. Adolf Hitler's reign of terror and the circulating, horrific stories of the Nazi death and concentration camps drove many to such extremes. Mothers and children were forced to eat nothing but moldy bread and questionable water, while fathers were desperately searching for ways overseas, to America. One such family lived in Strasbourg, in that old, dilapidated painting store.

They were alone, the Abramek family. A mother, father, and their teenage son. Jewish by both religious belief and blood, they were sought after and harassed by the dreaded Nazis. Such pure Jewish blood, the German soldiers claimed, deserved nothing but the best. Which, in their minds, was death. No, not quick and easy, but slow and painful. Gas chambers, gargantuan ovens, barbed wire nooses. Heinous tortures and practices that would have grown men cowering in their beds and begging for the nightmares to end. This family was desperately trying to avoid such situations.

The boy sat up quickly, scrubbing away at the sleep in his eyes. Utterly unique eyes; one being the strong, steady wintergreen of his father, while the other was a soft and dreamy topaz that his mother possessed. The boy's name was Gale, and at the tender age of sixteen, he understood perhaps too well the dire and devastated state of the world. Born and raised in France, it broke his heart to see his homeland so decimated.

He ran a tanned, bony hand through his disheveled hair. Hair that had once been a beautiful, pale ashy blonde, but was now matted and tangled, a dull silver in color from lack of nutrition and the dusty quarters they kept. A mouth that had once always worn a smile was now creased in a frown, pulled taught, and looked like it was there to stay. His face was drawn and haggard from the years spent in hiding and lack of proper food. His eyes were sunken and hollow, completely devoid of any hope or joy.

They would die here, Gale was certain. Either that or they would be carted off to a concentration camp to be tortured mercilessly.

He glanced over at his mother and father, both still asleep. Gale's scowl deepened and his hatred for the Germans flared as he gazed at his parents. His mother, Edith, was once a beautiful woman. She had been slim and fit, with a wide smile and pleasant disposition. But here, sprawled out on moth-eaten rugs and covered in tattered quilts, he saw how much the war had affected her. Her long brunette hair was stringy and thinning, having lost its sheen long ago. Her once healthy frame had shrunk to barely more than a skeleton, her hip bones protruding much more than they should. Her smiles were scarce now, and when one did happen to grace her features, it never touched her eyes and was always hollow. His father was much the same. His pale skin in sharp contrast to his wife's, his ashy blonde hair had turned to a pale white, making him look much older than his mere forty-three years. His lanky frame and incredibly thin. Xavier's voice had lost its smooth and deep sound, instead being replaced by the raspy, desperate tone of a beggar. But that was what they were; beggars. Perhaps even lower.

Gale slowly rose to his feet, careful not to disturb his parents. Silently, he padded over to a heap of brown not far from his head; his coat. It was old, ripped and worn out, but it was all he had to keep himself warm. He slipped it on, fingering the large star of David stitched over the right breast. The mark of the Jews. Heaving a sigh, he carefully stepped over his sleeping parents. They didn't need to know what he was doing or where he was going. Certainly, they'd never allow it.

Edith had vehemently opposed Gale's leaving the basement in search for food and warmth when he had tried to ask. Xavier himself was against it; Gale's father was apprehensive enough when he had to leave, if only to peer up the stairs and make sure the doors were still barricaded. But supplies in their refuge was dwindling, and it was time to act. Besides, Gale wasn't stupid; he'd be careful.

He stepped over his sleeping parents and silently opened the wooden door that led up and out of the basement. Casting one last look back before he shut the door, he climbed up the wooden steps and poked his head up into the silent interior of the store. It was almost exactly the same as when they had arrived two years ago. Old canvases, some on broken frames, littered the floor. Paintings that had once been beautiful and expensive were faded and torn. Gale sighed and shifted the debris out of his way as he climbed out to ground level. It was eerily silent, like it should be. Good then; no Germans.

After scrounging around in the store for a good hour and not finding anything, Gale's frustration was peaking. His family couldn't continue to live like this; he would have to go outside the store and across the street, into the alley. As much as the thought disgusted him, he would have to dig around in the rubbish bins for scraps. Perhaps, if worse comes to worst, he could capture a stray animal. Desperate times, indeed.

Such actions were incredibly dangerous. While the doors to the shop were blocked and the boarded up windows blocked any outsiders from peering in, the street was open and unprotected. If there were people out and about, he'd had jeopardized his entire family, merely to live more comfortably. But on the other hand, without food, even the most disgusting kind, they would surely die. He had to check. It was the only way.

Sending up a quick prayer, Gale began to pry away the various chairs and other furniture from the doors of the shop. The wood, weak from being neglected, split in his hands multiple times. By the time he was done and the doors were free, his tanned palms were full of splinters and his fingers were bleeding. He deftly wiped them off on his wool breeches, picking out the various pieces of wood, and carefully creaked open the door. His hands and knees were trembling with fright as he carefully placed one eye over the crack, to see if the streets were indeed empty like he believed. He let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding when he saw that all was quiet; not a soul in sight.

Opening the door wider, Gale carefully stuck his head out to look around. It smelled horribly of ash and gunpowder, but he could look past it. The streets were indeed in sad shape, much worse than he had ever seen. "_Qu'est devenu notre monde?_" he muttered to himself. While he was a Jew, being born and bred in France naturally led to the learning of the language. His Hebrew was rudimentary, but English and French he could speak fluently.

He stepped out into the filthy streets, and before he could talk himself out of his plan, he dashed across the stones and into the dark alley. The smell was even worse here; death and rotting vegetables coupled with the gunpowder fumes made him almost gag, but he continued. Going over to an aluminum bin, he carefully removed the lid and began rummaging around. The stench was almost unbearable, but he did manage to find a few heads of lettuce that were not totally rotten, as well as a bell pepper and a few grapes.

Satisfied with his haul, Gale turned back around to face the shop. He was almost smiling as he stared down at the half-edible bundle of vegetables. His mother would certainly be grateful, and perhaps his father would even allow him to come again. He licked his lips in anticipation. Gale glanced up at the shop, fully intending on walking leisurely back. Instead, the fruits and vegetables tumbled back towards the ground as his breath came rushing out in a horrified gasp.

The door. It was _open. _He was sure he had closed it behind him.

All regards for his own safety fled as Gale tore back across the street, complete and utter _fear _almost locking up his muscles. This couldn't be what he thought it might; the streets had been empty when he emerged. Nobody could have seen. It was impossible. It had to be. He wrenched the door aside and, tears welling in his heterochromatic eyes, he dove for the trapdoor that housed the entrance to their shelter. Except, it was no longer there. It was across the room, nearly split in half.

_God, please, no…_

Gale could hardly believe what was happening. This had to be a horrible nightmare. His breaths coming out in ragged gasps, he almost tumbled down the stairs to see if it indeed was only a cruel dream, and he would see his own sleeping body resting by his parents'. But it wasn't so.

When he stumbled through the remains of the wooden door, the tears now freely running down his face, Gale almost collapsed from dread and terror. His mother and father were on their knees, backs to each other and gagged. Four soldiers stood in a perfectly straight line behind them, and one stepped forward as Gale came into view. He sank to his knees and clenched his hair in his hands as he stared at his parents. They stared back, pleading with him to cooperate with the soldiers. "I'm sorry," he mouthed.

A single tear ran down his mother's face.


	2. The Camp

**A/N - Okay, here's chapter two. I'm not entirely sure if this will end up a coupling, but I'm thinking maybe. It just makes the whole thing more tragic, ya know? Next chapter will be the last. **

**Thanks for reading, and I really appreciate reviews. I don't know much about the make up of the camps, so just bear (bare?) with me on it. Oh, and if you want translations for the French, just ask and I'll edit the chapters so it will be in English on the bottom. **

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><p>The first thing he noticed was the smell.<p>

It was something he hoped he would never have to experience again; smoke, acid, grease and gunpowder all mixed together with the horrifying scent of decay to form the most horrid stench he had ever had the misfortune of inhaling. Gale was in a small boxcar, hands and feet chained to the wall, with a dozen other boys his age. He hadn't seen his parents since the day before, when they had been shoved and hustled to a different train. He had no idea where they were or what might have happened to them. All he knew was that he was alive, but certainly not for long. He had heard the other boys talking in low tones, their terrified voices carrying through the wooden car perhaps more than they intended.

Auschwitz.

The blackest, most hellish place for a Jew to wind up, located in Germany herself. Gale wrapped his arms around his knees tightly, trying to keep himself from shaking like a frightened rabbit. All his muscles were tense and his thoughts were in shambles as the name of the most wretched Nazi death camp continued to whir around in his brain. There was only one way out of the place, and by no means would it be anything shy of raw agony. The only thing Gale could wish for now was the almost impossible quick, painless death of his parents. Perhaps they would be lucky enough to be shot...and it was all his fault. He tightened his grip on his knees, shudders wracking through his body. He was going to die, plain and simple. And he was the only one to blame.

The boxcar ground to a halt, putrid smoke wafting into the space as the sliding doors were thrown open. The thirteen or so teenage boys in the train all fell silent, bunching together out of fear. Ten German soldiers clambered into the car while the others remained just outside, rifles resting on their shoulders and cruel, sick grins twisting their features. The freezing wind of the winter outside made Gale convulse from cold; he wore nothing but ragged sackcloth, torn and bloodied. He tried not to think about the previous owner.

One of the men sauntered over to him, his craggy features set into a deep scowl. He was scarred; one side of his face pulled down and twisted. Gale guessed he was once on the lines, but was sent here to exterminate the Jewish people once he was injured. The man swiftly unlocked his chains from the wall, still scowling, and began yanking Gale harshly along, not caring when he pulled too hard and Gale stumbled, his knees grinding into the rotting wood of the train's car. He only dragged him along, and the other boys watched in terror. Gale was the first one off.

_What an honor, _he thought wryly to himself. He ground his teeth together when the scarred soldier wrenched his chains, causing Gale to fall out of the train and into the hard ice below. His bare feet were instantly numb and he shivered again. The other Germans only sneered at him; some even spit as he was forced along. Gale could hear the cries of the other teenagers as they were unloaded, and once he heard the guttural growl of one of the soldiers. A sharp keen followed quickly after, and Gale fought the urge to turn around. He couldn't do anything for the boy.

The camp was enormous, with tall fences and many grey buildings. They were very small, and Gale could only assume that each one held a different torture. Through the chain-link fence, he could see a few people milling about in a small prison yard. Many were obviously ill; they were hunched over, barely shuffling along. Their fingers and toes ranged from the normal skin tone of new arrivals to the disgusting black of ones who had been in the camp for some time, frostbite having quickly set in. Gale thought he even saw a child or two, but he couldn't be sure. Altogether, there were far too few people to ease his nerves. The most humans not garbed in uniforms he saw at one time were those in lines outside the buildings, soldiers keeping them under suffocating security.

Gale suddenly felt the manacles on his wrists tighten, and he let out an involuntary hiss from the pain. The scarred man smirked, twisting the bindings tighter as he continued to drag his charge into the camp. The Jew refused to make any more noise, even when a passing guard backhanded him across the face. Weak from the lack of food, it sent Gale tumbling to the ground. His left shoulder hit the ice first, and a shooting pain shot down his arm. He blinked back the tears and bit his tongue to keep from crying out. As soon as he was on the ground, the scarred soldier hauled him to his feet again. Gale noticed they were now outside a very small building. There were no people on the outside and the doors were thick, made of steel. Producing an iron key from his coat pocket, the man quickly unlocked the door, shoved Gale inside, and slammed it closed, not even bothering to remove the chains.

Relief so violent he trembled washed over him when the door was closed; that meant this wasn't a chamber meant for torture. Gale quickly pulled himself into an awkward sitting position, being mindful of his shoulder, and took his first look around. The room was very small, with no beds or any furniture. Only a small window, high over their heads, let in a bit of sunlight. Otherwise, the walls and floor were completely blank. There was some straw scattered around, no doubt an insult; little more than animals, they were, then.

Inside, there were only four people, all of them filthy and haunted. Two grown men, one with scraggly chocolate hair and another with greasy black, sat hunched over on the opposite side of the room. They were unshaved and rugged, their bodies curving inward to either relieve themselves of pain or as a subconscious instinct to protect themselves. They said nothing, just stared at him with expressions full of pity and empathy. Gale nodded at them, not entirely sure of their nationality, and took a close look at the other person. It was a small girl—apparently, the people imprisoned were not separated by gender—with short auburn hair. He guessed her to be younger than him by about three years, and her skin was pale, with hints of blue flecked around her nose and eyes from the cold. Her eyes were a strange shade of reddish brown, and she was absolutely tiny. Malnourished, no doubt.

Gale turned back to the men, his eyes imploring as he shuffled over to them, hugging himself. He took a seat a few feet away and asked the brown headed one, "English?" His French accent was heavy as he spoke, but the man seemed to understand. He nodded, and Gale sighed in relief. "What is your name?" he asked, scooting closer. The black haired man said nothing, just stared at his feet.

"Kasey," the chocolate haired man said, and immediately Gale knew he was from Britain. "This man here is Marlin, native of Germany herself." The other male nodded, not looking at them. Gale studied him, noting his eyes were a dull cyan that had probably once been bright. Kasey had chocolate brown eyes to match his hair. "And that young woman over there is Molly. She says little, but that's only to be expected. She's been here only a few days. Witnessed her brother's death yesterday."

Gale cast another glance over at the girl and noticed that she had drawn her knees to her chest and buried her face against them. She was either ignoring the men talking about her or didn't hear. "Where is she from?" Gale asked, trying to speak around his accent. "Her hair color and eyes do not match many of those in Europe."

"France," Kasey answered promptly, and Gale gave a start. His own country? "Her mum and dad died on the journey over. Soldiers were a bit rough with them and went too far. She's alone now, and we can barely get a bloody word out of her." He paused to scrutinize Gale. "You're a French bloke, no?" Gale nodded. "See if you can get her to talk. She's a lonely one, and we all need someone here to confide in. I've got Marlin—though his English isn't entirely proper—but you two don't have someone yet."

Gale wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea. The thought of making friends in a _death _camp did not seem very logical; why come to care for someone when you knew they would only die in the most horrendous way possible? But he could see Kasey's logic; it would ease the ache of loss and the horrible fear of what tomorrow might bring. With a curt nod in Kasey's direction, he crawled over to the girl huddled by herself, shaking with either cold, fear or heartbreak. Most likely all three.

Molly didn't look up when he leaned against the wall beside her. Gale sighed heavily and mimicked her position, saying nothing until curiosity got the best of her and she peeked up at him from around her arm. Her strange eyes were rimmed with red and puffy, and Gale could see the glisten of remaining tears. He tried to smile at her, but he had a feeling that it looked more like a lopsided grimace. Either way, the girl let out a small, hollow laugh. She could tell he was trying.

"_Vous êtes Molly, oui?_ " Gale whispered, not entirely sure what to say. He figured that French words would bring her some comfort, no matter how infinitesimal.

"_Oui,_" Molly said. She sniffled again, and Gale cautiously put a light hand on her shoulder. "_C'est moi. Mais je souhaite le contraire._"

He was confused, to say the least. She wanted the opposite? Did she mean…

"You wish otherwise?" he murmured, reverting back to English. "What do you mean?" He paused. "Oh, my apologies. English, _mademoiselle_?"

"…Yes," she said after a long pause. "I wish the opposite." Her accent was even thicker than his, but he didn't mind. He got her to talk, with relative ease. He felt a strange sense of pride well up in his chest. There was another lengthy silence between the two. "I do not want to exist anymore. It is not worth it. Even though my death will surely be a suffering one."

Gale couldn't think of anything to say. He wasn't the 'comforting' type. Instead, he merely said, "I understand. I…" He drew a shaky breath. "It is my fault I am here. My parents, as well. I was reckless and we were found, hiding in Strasbourg. What part of France are you from?"

"Lyon," she muttered. "_Il a été et sera toujours ma maison_."

Gale cracked a small smile. "_Idem ici._"

Molly hesitated, then smiled softly back.

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><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

_Vous êtes Molly, oui?_ (**Gale**): You are Molly, yes?

_C'est moi. Mais je souhaite le contraire_. (**Molly**): It is me. But I wish the opposite.

_Il a été et sera toujours ma maison. _(**Molly**): It was and always will be my home.

_Idem ici_. (**Gale**): Same here.

_Oui._ (**Both**): Yes.

_...mademoiselle? _(**Gale**): miss (as in, unmarried woman)


	3. Poison

**A/N - Last chapter, you guys! I'm so very proud of myself; I really feel like I did this justice. I hope that I managed to keep it PG, but I just really wanted to convey what it might have been like. So anyway. I fixed last chapter, putting in translations, if you're curious.**

**Thank you guys for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed this. It really is a horrible, wretched thing that happened. I didn't think this little project of mine would get as much attention as it did. **

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><p>Agony. Fire. Brimstone. Smoke. That was it. That was all his world was composed of.<p>

Gale could barely register the crackling of the fire, hardly hear the voices of his tormenters as they laughed and jeered with every scream he released. Early this morning, he had been dragged from his quarters to endure another torture, Molly clinging to his form and tears welling up in both their eyes. He had come to care a great deal for the girl, and she for him. As it turns out, she was actually a few weeks older than he, not the other way around as he previously thought. Either way, he could barely remember her name as the branding iron was pressed yet again to sensitive skin of his back, it's shape was the Nazi crest. Dozens of the marks were sprinkled across the skin of his broad back, and Gale was surprised he was still alive. The pain was excruciating. It felt as if his skin was slowly being melted together, the heat and pain lingering just so it could hear the sickening, anguished cries of a young man. He could smell the horrible stench of burning flesh: his own.

"Again!" A Nazi hissed from somewhere nearby. Gale slumped downward, his knees giving out but the chains around his wrists holding him up, attached to two wooden posts at his sides. His eyes fluttered closed, blood, sweat and tears pouring out of him. He was panting heavily, his back on fire and his throat raw from the terrifying shrieks he had been giving all morning. He had no idea how long he had been in the branding room, but it felt like eternity. He couldn't feel his hands, the manacles around his wrists having cut off circulation long ago. They had been chafing against him as he had struggled earlier, and he was sure he had rubbed a few layers of skin off. But that pain was lost in the anguish of the brands.

"No," a gravelly voice answered harshly, but Gale heard him as if from underwater. "The scum can't take much more. But…" he trailed off, and when he spoke again, Gale's heart plummeted ever farther than it had ever done before. "I guess one more couldn't hurt. But I think it should be in…ah, a more _visible _place." Apparently, the man was gesturing to somewhere, because the other guards in the room suddenly began to whoop and holler their approval.

Gale slowly pried his eyes open, the room and people around him being fuzzy and distorted through the haze of pain. Vaguely, he heard the hiss of the iron being reheated, and he braced himself once more for the searing torture to be placed upon him. However, it did not come in the place he expected. He watched in growing horror as the orange glow of the tool came into his line of sight, approaching his face. He tried to twist out of the way, to escape the iron, but he was too weak. Every single muscle in his body was utterly exhausted. He could only watch through clouded eyes as it got closer and closer until he could feel the unbelievable heat on his skin, scorching it before the metal even touched him.

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><p>The sun was high in the sky, Gale noted, when the scarred soldier began to drag him back to his cell, back to Molly and Kasey. Marlin had been wrenched out a few days back and never returned. Kasey was a mess, refusing the tiny rations meant to barely keep them alive and just sitting, hunched over in a corner by himself, staring at nothing. The three tried not to think about him, to consider how he had been killed. It was too horrifying a prospect to entertain.<p>

Gale couldn't keep his feet under him as the soldier lugged him back across Auschwitz. He stumbled once, only a few steps away from the branding room, and couldn't muster the strength to get back on his feet. The guard only sneered, jerked his chains so harshly Gale was surprised his shoulder did not become dislocated, and proceeded to drag him across the camp. Gale could only moan in agony as his branded back grated against the rocky, icy ground, the sackcloth covering it rubbing the seared skin raw.

As if from a distance, he heard the tumbler on the cell doors fall into the place and the creaky iron slab open. The scarred soldier yanked Gale to his feet and practically threw him into the room, growling something in German Gale didn't understand. The Jewish boy slumped to the ground, his eyes closed and arms splayed about in an odd manner, and he listened in relief as the door closed. His back was absolutely destroyed, the skin blazing red and scarred with the numerous marks of the Germans. He groaned again, not able to open his eyes, and he registered someone calling his name. He felt the vibrations in the floor as the person ran over to him and he let out a hiss when someone lifted his head into their lap, unknowingly brushing against the seared skin of his right cheek, on which now there was the bold, black Nazi symbol emblazoned upon it. He heard a gasp as the person noticed it and felt fingers running through his shaggy hair, and he managed to gather the strength to open his eyes.

His bi-colored hues met the titian orbs of Molly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She crooned his name over and over, murmuring something in French that he didn't hear. Slowly, his muscles began working again and he let out a long, anguished sigh. Molly choked back a sob, the tears in her eyes brimming over and plopping into the dirt beside them. She stroked his hair, whispering to him in French condolences. Gale managed to dredge up a weak smile and caught one of her tiny hands in his own as she brought it back towards his face. He clenched it tightly in his larger one and placed a gentle kiss on her palm in comfort. "_Je suis tellement désolé,_" she whispered over and over to him. He only nodded, managing to get a throbbing arm under him to prop himself up. The pain in his back flared and he bit back a howl, instead gritting his teeth and clamping his eyes closed. He waited for the anguish to ebb before speaking. He had something important to tell Molly, and he had to say it now. They had been here for longer than most people, and their time was running out.

In the many weeks that Molly and Gale had to come to know each other, the Jewish boy became increasingly aware of the delicate, beautiful soul of his French friend. At first, her perseverance and determination to stay alive awed him, inspired him, even. But as time wore on, he began to realize that their blossoming friendship was starting to become inadequate in his eyes. He began to notice little things about her; how she bit her lip when she was nervous, that her voice squeaked ever so slightly after any hesitation, how long her fingers were, that she would blink rapidly when confused. He noticed how long and thick her eyelashes were, how her laugh seemed to chime and echo like bells whenever it was genuine. How white her smile was and how it managed to lift his dismal spirits. To put it simply, he had fallen deeply, truly, madly in love with the tiny sixteen year old girl.

And of all times and places, it had to be now. In a death camp.

"Molly," he said lowly, managing to get his voice back once the pain in his back receded. He took her other hand, scars marring her creamy skin from the many lashings and cuttings she had endured. "I must tell you something, before—"

The door to their prison burst open, revealing two armed guards. The teenagers jumped and Gale couldn't stop a cry of agony as his back seemed to light up in flames. One of the soldiers lunged for Molly, the other keeping a close eye on Kasey and Gale. But not close enough; he wasn't expecting someone to jump in the way.

Especially not one who had just been branded.

Gale flew between Molly, who had shrank away from her tormenter, and the German guard. He screamed in raw anguish as the pain from his brands flared even brighter, but he couldn't help but feel a tiny bit accomplished. The man had been so surprised he had fallen into the dirt of the cell, face first. The soldier sat up, spitting mud and straw out of his teeth, and scowled blackly and the staggering Gale. Molly stared unabashedly at him, but he kept his eyes on the German, who was rising to his feet. Gesturing for the other guard to enter, he managed to lash out and secure one of Gale's arms in his large hand. The Jew hissed from the pain and tried to wrench out of his grip, to try and get the other guard to disregard Molly, but he was so exhausted and in such torture that he couldn't seem to get his muscles to cooperate all of the sudden.

The German grinned wickedly when Gale's knees began to sink towards the ground, and he yanked the teenager up again. He looked over at his companion, who had both of Molly's wrists in one of his hands, a fistful of her hair in the other. "_Die Gaskammer,_" he growled at the other guard. He had such finality in his voice that it filled Gale with such an overwhelming feeling of dread that it took every ounce of self-control he had not to break down into tears right then and there. The other guard nodded, face alight with excitement, and proceeded to haul Molly out of the cell. Gale's captor began to follow, completely ignoring Gale's cries of agony and his half-crazed shouts of Molly's name.

They slowly approached one of the largest buildings on campus, and Gale's heart dropped and his soul began to panic. He knew what it was, and by the sudden shouts and pleas in French of Molly, he knew she did, too.

A gas chamber. It was time; they were marching to their deaths.

There was no key for this building; those who went in would not be escaping. The leading guard—the one holding Molly—threw the door open and tossed the girl inside. Gale shortly followed, and the door slammed closed. The Jewish girl scrambled over to her companion and clutched his sorry excuse for clothing in her shaking fists, looking up at him with pleading eyes. The room around them was tiled, with hundreds of tiny pores lining the floor, ceiling and walls. The space was clean and white, no signs of previous inhabitants anywhere. But that was to be expected; it was gas the killed the victims.

As nozzles around them began to hiss and an almost-transparent vapor began to creep out of it, Gale turned to Molly and placed his calloused, frost-bitten hands on her shoulders. He fought back the pain in his back and shoulders, refusing to allow it to cloud his mind. Molly was crying, sobbing about how she didn't want to die, that she wanted to marry and have children. Gale placed his hand over her mouth and leaned close to whisper what he so desperately needed to say in her ear.

"_Je t'aime, Molly,_" he murmured to her, and the girl let out a startled gasp, followed by a course cough as the gas began to enter her lungs. Gale's eyes burned with unshed tears from deep, gut-wrenching sadness and the fumes around him. His lungs began to burn and his mind began to fog over. Molly fought to answer, determined to let him know that he wasn't alone, that she was going to tell him the same.

"_Moi aussi_," she choked out, her eyes stinging and lungs beginning to burn in agony from the poisonous gas. She cried harder, and Gale took her into his arms. With his last bit of strength as the vapors leeched away his life, he kissed her soundly upon the lips. She tasted of poison from the chamber surrounding him, but he didn't care. He couldn't; in a matter of seconds, they would both be no more.

They parted. Not from their own will, but from the gradual effect of the gas around them. They slid to the ground, their eyes open and empty, devoid of life and uncaring.

Gale Abramek was dead, with the still body of Molly Simms still wrapped securely in his scarred, branded arms.

* * *

><p><strong>So yeah. I made it couple. Too cheesy?<br>Translations:**

__Je suis tellement désolé._ _(**Molly**): I'm so sorry.

_Die Gaskammer. _(**German guard**): The gas chamber.

_Je t'aime, Molly._ (**Gale**): I love you, Molly.

_Moi aussi. _(**Molly**): Me, too.


End file.
